


star of this night (promise to shine for me)

by moon__goddess



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: 1001 nights AU, Blood, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Violence, also took some inspo from the wrath and the dawn, people get stabbed okay, scheherazade au, sooo many cameos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:27:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21585310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon__goddess/pseuds/moon__goddess
Summary: Jongdae is terrified.  He doesn't want to die, not yet, not this young.  But everyone knows that's what happens when you marry the king.But not this time.Written forEXOnce Upon A Time Round II P123
Relationships: Kim Jongdae | Chen/Zhang Yi Xing | Lay
Comments: 14
Kudos: 41
Collections: ExOnce Upon A Time: Round II





	star of this night (promise to shine for me)

**Author's Note:**

> the original prompt was this: "Scherazade AU. Yixing is a King who takes on spouses and kill them after just one night. Jongdae is the son of a court official who was given to the King, and began to tell tale after tale so he would live another day. As days go by and tales are told, the King starts to look forward to more than just the tales."  
> but i kind of... ran with it and made it probably wayyyy more angsty than it needed to be.....  
> anyways thank you kind prompter it feels like you wrote this prompt for me specifically because it is RIGHT up my alley~ i hope you enjoy!  
> thank you lo for all your helpful comments you're the best~  
> *grammar unbeta'ed i'm so sorry for any mistakes they're on me*

The king smiled to himself as he hurried down the hallway, cloak fluttering around him. The palace had come into an unexpected chill, and he had been shivering so violently during a meeting with the leaders of the Consortium that one of his attending servants had run off and fetched him his cloak. He hoped his new consort was alright; she’d never taken well to the cold snaps during their courtship, always needing an extra blanket and sitting as close to the fire as she could. The thought of her alone in what was now their rooms, clutching her robes to her in an attempt to ward off the chill, made him quicken his steps yet again. 

He couldn’t wait to hold her, to take her in his arms and shower her with kisses, with love and affection, and to finally be able to call her his wife. Their marriage ceremony had been earlier that day, yet it had taken until now, an hour before midnight, for him to be free of his advisors and his meetings. It was the unfortunate reality of ruling; there was practically no time for personal endeavors. But he _made_ time for them, and now with his wife (his wife!) permanently in the palace, the coming weeks had a more hopeful tint to them.

He reached their rooms and the servant hovering outside the door quickly bowed to him before gently opening the door. He swept inside, immediately loosening the ties of his cloak as the door slid shut. “Liyuan?” he called, laying his cloak over the back of an ornate chair. 

“Here.” Her sweet voice floated over to him from the bathing room, and then she appeared, and he felt the breath leave his lungs as he took her in.

“Liyuan,” he said, his voice husky. “My wife.” He strode to her, took her face in his hands, and kissed her softly. 

She smiled, a quiet thing, as he pulled away. “My husband.” Her big brown eyes were captivating. “Come,” she said, taking his hand. “You must be exhausted.”

He willingly followed, marveling at the feel of her hand in his, and when they reached the bed he sat down, not caring anymore about the state of his robes, whether they would wrinkle or not, and tugged her toward him. “My Liyuan,” he murmured, and she smiled again, leaning down to press her lips to his.

The kiss turned hungry, both of them devouring each other, like they couldn’t get enough. He felt her soft hands pushing his clothes down, undoing the fabric ties hidden at his waist, and when they were loose enough he shrugged out of them, pulling her down onto the bed with him. The smooth silk of her robes brushed against his skin, and he couldn’t stop kissing her, running his hands over her, completely in awe of the fact that she was his and he was hers.

She drew back, her lips kiss-bitten, face flushed, and he stared at her in awe.

Something silver flashed in her hand, and then his side exploded in pain. Liyuan’s face twisted as he screamed.

“You deserve this,” she whispered. She pulled the knife upwards, extending the wound, before she yanked it out from his side, causing more blood to pour out, staining the sheets and her dress, and then raised it over his chest.

“Liyuan,” he choked out, tears spilling down his face. “W...why?”

She glared at him, no sign of the softness she’d previously had in her face. He could feel the strength leaving his body as she clutched the knife tighter.

“Goodbye, Yixing,” she said, and brought the knife down.

“What?!”

Jongdae stared at his father, slack-jawed with shock. 

“I’m afraid so,” his father said, bowing his head. “You are to be given to His Majesty as his next consort.”

Jongdae shook his head. “No. No, I refuse.” He slammed his hands on the table. “Father, you know the king kills his consorts after one night! How can you just - just sign my death warrant like this?”

Lord Kim Jongseok stood from the table, unable to look his son in the eyes. “It has been agreed. You leave for the palace tomorrow morning.”

“But -” His father raised a hand, cutting Jongdae’s words off.

“I will hear no more. The decision is final.”

Jongdae shut his mouth, clenching his fists as he watched his father walk out of the room. Once the door boomed shut behind him, he slumped in his chair, feeling completely drained. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening. He let out a sigh and dropped his head in his hands, staying there for a moment before he realized that these were his last few days of life.

With that depressing thought, he realized he needed to make preparations for when he was gone, so he sprang up and dashed from the room, narrowly missing one of the housemaids who was starting to clean.

His first stop, once he’d left the large manor-like house he would no longer call home, leaving his most trusted manservant in charge of putting his favorite clothes and other essential items into trunks, was the school. He ducked inside, waving at the few children he saw roaming the building, and made his way to the head teacher’s classroom. 

Sunyoung gasped when he told her the news, her eyes immediately brimming with tears. “Don’t cry, please,” Jongdae begged her. “I will do everything I can to make sure the school keeps running.”

Sunyoung clasped her hands around his. “You always were the best of the nobility, Jongdae-yah,” she said. “If, by chance, you live…” She swallowed, and Jongdae’s own throat felt tight. “You would make a great king.”

His vision blurred. “Thank you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Take care of the children.”

She nodded, her face tight with the effort of holding back tears. Jongdae let go of her hands. "Goodbye, Sunyoung," he managed, and then he hurried out before she could see that one tear had escaped and was rolling down his cheek.

Once he'd collected himself, he went to the market, where he found a few of his favorite merchants busy tending their stalls. Each one reacted similarly to Sunyoung, clasping his hands and wishing him well (he pretended not to notice when Ryeowook, the best fabrics tradesman in the city, began to sob violently into his new collection of silks), and by the time he reached Youngbae's stall he had shed more than a few additional tears himself. Seeing Youngbae's face before him, though, all smiles, already reaching for a mandarin to give to him, was the tipping point. 

The tears began to fall, unstoppable, and Youngbae immediately dropped the fruits he was holding onto his table. "Jongdae-yah," he said, coming around and wrapping his arms around him, "what's wrong?"

It took Jongdae a few moments to find his voice, he was crying so hard. "Everything," he choked out, pressing his face into Youngbae's shoulder. "I... I'm to be married to His Majesty tomorrow."

Youngbae inhaled sharply. "Oh, Jongdae," he murmured, carefully rubbing circles into Jongdae's back. "I'm so sorry."

Jongdae sniffled. "Thanks, hyung," he said, drawing back. "I'm just... still in shock, I think." He forced a laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Wanted to make sure you all knew what was happening."

Youngbae frowned, the slight wrinkles around his eyes stretching down. "Thank you for telling me," he said. "If... if you live, Jongdae-yah," he continued, "make sure you bring your light to the palace. It might help."

Jongdae closed his eyes for a moment, bitterness rushing through him at the word 'if'. "I will, hyung," he said. "I'll try."

"That's all we can ask." Youngbae gave him a sad smile before sending him on his way.

His last stop was at his favorite tavern, where the workers all knew him by name _and_ knew his usual orders. Their drinks were strong, their house-made soups delicious, and he grinned when he saw one of his best friends sitting in their usual corner already.

"Get over here!" Baekhyun yelled, spotting him in the entrance. 

Jongdae wound his way through the tables, avoiding workers carrying plates of hot food and full glasses of various alcohols, and as soon as he sat down one of the serving girls, Yerim, placed a large goblet of beer in front of him.

"Hey, Baekhyun," he said, taking a large, comforting sip.

"Yah, what's wrong?" Baekhyun leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table to look more closely at him. "Your eyes are all red, are you alright?"

"Ah, so you haven't heard yet." Jongdae took another fortifying sip of beer. "I've been promised to the king."

"WHAT?" Baekhyun's jaw dropped. "Are you joking?"

"Unfortunately not." Jongdae frowned. "My father told me today, and I go to the palace tomorrow."

He looked up at his friend to see his face tighten. "Don't - don't say anything," he added. "I've cried enough today."

Baekhyun pressed his lips together but kept silent, choosing instead to lightly rub Jongdae's shoulder. "How about," he said after a minute, "we get some more of this delicious beer, and some food, and drink away our sorrows, hm?"

Jongdae smiled. "That's why I'm here."

"Another round, then!" Baekhyun signaled at Yerim before draining his glass. "Let's drink them dry!"

The next morning, Jongdae blearily opened his eyes and immediately winced in pain. His head was throbbing like it had been bashed in with a mace. A mace like the ones he'd seen the rare member of the city guard carry, one with hard iron spikes, dangling from a chain. The rest of his body hurt, too, his legs aching with fatigue, and as he tried to sit up pain shot through his spine, making his head pulse as well. He let out a groan. What did he let Baekhyun convince him into doing, he wondered, rubbing his eyes to try and wake up further. He looked around, idly concerned as to why he couldn't spot any of his clothes laid out like they usually were, before his eyes landed on a large trunk.

Realization flashed through him, and with it came a bolt of nervous adrenaline, banishing any remaining drowsiness from his body.

Right.

Today he would be marrying the king.

Today he would be shipped off to the royal palace, never to return.

Because today (or tonight, he wasn't sure about the timing of it), he would also be killed.

He dressed in his nicest robes, black with red and silver patterning, and when his manservant asked if he would like breakfast, he shook his head no. His stomach was turning itself into knots; he wouldn't be able to eat.

When next his door opened, it was his father's butler, summoning him to his procession. The numbness swooped in, stealing his breath as he looked at his room one last time before he allowed himself to be escorted downstairs.

The numbness spread, making his brain fuzzy. He nodded at his father, not even deigning him with words, not until his father reached out and caught his arm. "I'm sorry, Jongdae," he said, and Jongdae just looked at him, feeling dazed.

"Goodbye, Father," he replied, and climbed into his litter, giving his childhood home one last glance before he shut the curtain.

The city streets were crowded, making progress slow, and by the time they crossed one of the main roads leading to the Gate of the Sun, meaning they were only a few minutes away from the palace, Jongdae was feeling extremely irritable. He tried to restrain it, not wanting to waste his last day of life feeling less than content, but as his procession continued to crawl along, the stifling heat making sweat drip down his back, he felt his mood continue to sour.

It was almost a relief when they stopped moving, but Jongdae realized where they must be and scowled. His footman pulled the curtain aside and helped him out of the litter, and when he blinked away the brightness of the sun and took in the ornate gates of the palace, he couldn’t help the slight gasp that escaped him.

“You must announce yourself,” his footman murmured to him. “Knock on the gates and state your name.”

Jongdae swallowed, his stomach suddenly twisting itself into knots. He tucked his hands into his robes and slowly walked towards the gates, ignoring the rush of whispers from the surrounding people, and when he reached the towering iron he took a deep breath and knocked. The sound of his knuckles clanging against the metal echoed through the square.

“My name is Kim Jongdae,” he said, clutching the inner edge of his sleeve to hide his nerves. “I am His Majesty’s betrothed.”

There was no response. Jongdae blinked, his stomach twisting further, and glanced back at his footman, who gave him a tiny nod. The silence stretched on, and Jongdae could feel the nausea rising. He gulped, trying to calm himself, and made to knock again when the screech of metal against metal startled him. He jumped back a step and watched incredulously as the gate slowly inched itself open, just wide enough for him and his small procession to slip through.

He felt his hands start to shake. Faced with the entrance to the palace, he wanted nothing more than to run, run back to his home across the city, back to his room and his bed and the certainty that he would live another day. But he could not. He could not run, could not hide, could not escape this fate that had been handed to him so abruptly.

He exhaled. Lifted his chin, to prove to himself, to the king, that he would not be cowed. He would not be afraid, would not show the terror that was clawing at his insides. And stepped inside the palace.

“What?”

The king raised an eyebrow at the hand that had latched onto his wrist. Its owner grimaced and quickly removed it.

“Your Majesty, I must ask that you reconsider,” he said, looking carefully at the tiled floor, ignoring the lingering glances of the remaining courtiers and members of the Consortium as they took their leave. 

“There is nothing to reconsider.” The king’s voice was flat. “The decision has been made.” He jerked his head towards the door to his study. “Come, I would discuss other matters with you.” 

His Coinmaster nodded, folding his hands, and followed the king into the study, carefully closing the door behind him. Once it was shut and bolted, he whirled, but the king had already sunk into his chair and was holding up a hand. 

“Minseok, don’t,” he said quietly. “What’s done is done.”

Robbed of his speech, the Coinmaster exhaled, his shoulders slumping. “I understand.” He crossed the room and sat in his usual chair by the window. “But I still don’t see why each needs to die.”

The king shot him a glare. “You know why.”

“That was _five years ago_.”

“The length of time does not matter.”

Minseok sighed. “"Look, you can't keep executing them, people are starting to talk. And I say this to you not as your Coinmaster but as leader of the Oreum.”

The king exhaled, eyes closed, before looking at him, a shadow crossing his face. “Are those the only murmurs you’ve heard?”

“Yes.” Minseok pressed his lips together. “There has been nothing connecting your newest to the crimes of his father.”

“Look harder.” He frowned. “I have full confidence you will uncover something.”

Minseok inclined his head in acknowledgement.

“Now go,” the king said, locking eyes with his oldest friend and offering him a small smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. “I have a wedding to attend.”

Jongdae almost couldn’t recognize himself when next he looked in the mirror. The palace servants had done an impeccable job, pushing his dark hair off his face and parting it slightly left of center, a few locks resting over his forehead, and giving him gorgeously intense eye makeup. He’d never been one for heavy kohl, or using brighter colors on his eyes, but he had to admit - the dark eyeliner along with the deep red on his lids made him look stunning.

The clothes he was wearing were equally beautiful. Cream and black robes made of heavy silk, embroidered with gold in scrollwork patterns on the bodice and flower patterns on the sleeves. He’d been given delicate gold jewelry as well, a few rings on his fingers along with thin hoops on his ears and a thin chain around his neck. He looked… dare he say it, regal.

“It is time,” one of the servants said, bowing to him as he entered the room. 

Jongdae felt the blood drain from his face. He stood up, tucking his shaking hands into his sleeves. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “You’ve done a fantastic job.”

The three servants who had dressed him bowed, their faces carefully blank. He turned to the new servant, who was standing by the door to his rooms, hands clasped. “It appears I am ready.”

He wasn’t. He was not ready to die, not ready to have his life extinguished by their cruel ruler, but at his words the servant nodded and opened the door, motioning for him to follow. He swallowed, feeling the same terror he’d felt at the gates begin to claw its way up his chest, and walked out.

He followed the servant through the winding halls in silence, taking so many turns he soon lost track of where exactly in the palace he was. Every time they crossed paths with someone, their eyes would widen and they would bow, and it was all Jongdae could do not to scream at the pity he saw in most of their eyes. Instead he clenched his fists tighter, thankfully hidden by the beautiful sleeves of his robes, and smiled tensely at each one. 

The servant finally stopped before a large door, ornately carved with repeating sunburst fractals and painted gold. Jongdae was unwillingly impressed - the skill of whoever had created it was immense, and it was visually striking.

“Through here,” the servant murmured, and then heaved the door open.

It must have been heavier than it looked, because it opened very slowly, but then Jongdae saw the light of the setting sun spill out from the windows inside the grand hall and hit the door, making it glitter like metal does in the right light, and he couldn’t help but gasp. The door was _made_ of gold.

“This way, please.” The servant looked like he was holding back a smile.

Jongdae schooled his expression back into something serious, and followed him into the hall, where he barely managed to contain a second gasp.

The top section of the hall was covered with the most stunning stained glass windows he’d ever seen, bright colors and kaleidoscopic patterns creating a gorgeous array of light that shone across the room. The floor was marble, and so were the columns that lined the walls, and he could see both silver and gold inlays along the back wall. The entire hall screamed of wealth and power.

As he trailed behind the servant, he couldn’t help but gaze at the floor he was so overwhelmed. And angry. This was where the country’s riches were going? Building rooms in the palace of the king?

His eye caught on an engraving in the stone by his foot. Slowing his steps, he scanned the writing, and his anger drained almost immediately, leaving a hollow emptiness behind. He looked ahead to the next stone, and the next, and each of them documented a different battle, a different war, a different number of lives lost. 

The last stone with an engraving read of the loss of one soldier, protecting the king during a state visit gone wrong. He saw the name of the state and scoffed, his anger roaring back to life. That state had lost two lords and a princess as king’s consorts.

So many people dead. And for no reason, other than the king’s cruelty. A show of power.

And he would be the next to die.

The servant stopped at the front of the hall, making Jongdae almost bump into him. “Careful,” he said, steadying him. “You must stand here.”

It took all of Jongdae’s effort to keep his face motionless as he took his place by the servant. 

After a minute, a tall, willowy woman appeared from a door at the back he hadn’t noticed, her blue robes billowing. She walked up to Jongdae, her black eyes boring into him for a minute, before she blew out a breath and withdrew a slim book from beneath her arm. “Well, at least you aren’t ugly,” she said. “Just follow along, it’ll be over before you know it.”

Jongdae blinked, some combination of shock and terror sending a bolt of ice through him, and before he could respond the sound of a gong echoed through the room.

The golden door opened once more, and a man in black robes strode in.

Jongdae felt like his entire body had turned to stone. The man kept walking, coming closer and closer, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of him. With every step the man took, a new detail would jump out at him. _Step._ His thick black hair. _Step_. The gold and cream embroidery on his robes. _Step._ The sharpness of his jawline. _Step._ The silver chain earring that hung from his left ear. _Step._ The thin rings on his fingers. _Step._ His long, thin fingers. _Step._ His chiseled nose. _Step._ The golden circlet on his head.

The golden circlet on his head.

The man came to a stop next to Jongdae, in front of the woman in blue. “Your Majesty,” she said lowly.

Jongdae couldn’t move.

The woman began reading from the book, her voice solemn, but to Jongdae’s ears she seemed to be speaking underwater. He was reeling, his soul untethered by the only thing he never thought to be possible, despite having never once laid eyes on the king.

He was the most handsome man he’d ever seen in his life.

The timbre of the woman’s voice changed, and he blinked, feeling like he was resurfacing.

“-peat after me,” she was saying. “I, Kim Jongdae…”

He blinked again, his throat suddenly a desert. “I-I, Kim Jongdae,” he murmured.

“Do take His Esteemed Majesty, Zhang Yixing…”

“Do take His Esteemed Majesty…” Jongdae swallowed. “Z-zhang Yixing.”

The king did not move, did not turn towards him.

“To be my wedded husband from this day forward,” the woman continued.

“To be… my wedded husband… from this day forward...”

“For better and for worse, in sickness and in health, in times of war and times of peace…”

“For better and for worse, in sickness and in health, in times of war and times of peace…”

“Until death do us part.”

“Until… until d-death…” Jongdae choked on the words, terror tearing his insides to shreds. “Until death do us part.”

He exhaled heavily, and the woman turned to the king. Before she could say anything, the king held up a hand.

“I, Zhang Yixing,” he began, and Jongdae felt his heart stop. The soft, silken steel of his voice was like an arrow, piercing through every defense. “Do take Lord Kim Jongdae to be my wedded consort from this day forward, for better and for worse, in sickness and in health, in times of war and times of peace, until death do us part.”

The woman raised her eyebrows, but shut her book with a quiet thud. “I pronounce you wed,” she said. “A kiss to seal the union.”

Jongdae turned to the king, intending to protest, but he froze again when his eyes met the king’s. His gaze dropped of its own accord to the king’s mouth, his perfectly shaped lips, and then he forced it back up to the king’s dark eyes.

One eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch, and then the king stepped forward. Jongdae could do nothing as the king took his face in his hands and brushed his lips across his own. 

The kiss was over before he could even process that they’d kissed, and then his servant was back, nudging his side as the king turned and began to walk back toward the golden door, the woman in blue vanishing through the smaller door behind them. “Majesty, you must go,” his servant was whispering, trying to gently push him along. “We must prepare your rooms for tonight.”

Tonight. The word startled him into walking, but his mind was preoccupied, thinking of the man that had stood next to him like a statue, only turning to look at him when it was over, the light touch of his lips, the press of his thin fingers against his jaw. He closed his eyes briefly. No matter how handsome the king was, it could not mask his cruelty, his ruthlessness, his brutality.

Jongdae stumbled, having caught the edge of his robes under his foot, and he braced himself for the impact of hitting the marble floor.

No crash came.

He opened his eyes to black robes, embroidered with cream and gold.

He scrambled back, regaining his balance and feeling his entire face flush with shame. “I-I am sorry, Your Majesty,” he stuttered, bowing his head and hoping the floor would open him up and swallow him.

The king said nothing, just lowered his hand from where he’d flung it out to prevent Jongdae from falling and walked away.

Jongdae only looked up from the floor once he heard the golden door boom shut.

He couldn’t get his consort out of his mind, no matter how many times he walked the length of his study. The kohl-lined eyes, the high, chiseled cheekbones, the low, smooth voice… He felt like hitting himself across the face. Why did he have to stop him from falling? He never would have caught another of his past consorts in that manner.

“Will you _stop pacing_.” 

General Wu, his most trusted military advisor, sat up from where he’d been draped across a chair close to the fire. “You’re making me exhausted just looking at you.”

“I have a lot of things on my mind.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “You can sleep, you know. The ride from Aljanat w’al’Ard is long.”

“First, you should talk about why you’re wearing a hole through the rug Zitao brought back from Qingdao.” 

The king shot him a look. “I would rather not.”

“Suit yourself.” The general leaned back into his chair.

“Yifan.”

At the sound of his name, the general sat up again.

“Did you find anything? Is there a report from Minseok?”

Yifan sighed, watching as the king stopped walking, his back to him. “I have not found anything,” he said carefully, “and I have not heard anything additional from Minseok.”

The king’s back tensed.

“Yixing, maybe you-”

“Don’t.” The king whirled around and glared at him. “It is what must be done.” He glanced at the large silver clock that hung on the mantle. “It is time.”

And without another word, he swept from the room.

Jongdae stared at the door, willing it to stay closed.

If it opened, he… he wouldn’t know what to do.

His servants had let him stay in his ceremonial robes, but they had lit what seemed like a hundred candles, placing them in certain corners and on specific ledges so they would bathe him in a soft glow from all angles. They’d also dabbed sandalwood and honey blossom perfume at his wrists and neck, murmuring that they were the king’s preferred scents, and then they’d removed whatever sheets had been present and replaced them with clouds of silk bedding.

As much as he found the king attractive, he was certain he did not want to sleep with him. But the servants had set his rooms up like this anyway, and then offered him small smiles as they left. One of them had given him a look that seemed almost sorrowful, but then she’d been hurried away by the other two, leaving him alone and uncomfortable.

His stomach was twisting again.

If the door opened, and it wasn’t the king… he knew, if that happened, that he would die.

He didn’t want the door to open at all.

He sighed and looked over at one of the candles that was resting near a mirror, a pretty light purple. The flame was a bit high, and he figured that one less candle wouldn’t really change the light, so he stood from where he was seated on the edge of the bed and pinched it out.

“Leave them.”

He froze.

“I am sorry for the delay.”

The steely voice of the king betrayed no emotion. Jongdae slowly turned to see him silhouetted in the entrance, the candlelight flickering over his tan skin. “I apologize, Your Majesty,” he said, lowering his head, “but I was only being safe. That flame was too large for my comfort.”

“Ah.” The king took a step forward. Jongdae inched himself backward, a gradual sort of terror starting to rise in his chest. “Your rooms look… inviting.”

“T-the servants…” Jongdae felt his breath leave him as his back hit the wall by the bed. The king did not stop, slowly looking around as he walked into the bedroom.

“I must commend them on a job well done.” His gaze landed on Jongdae, tense against the wall. “Come into the light.”

Jongdae did not move for a second, but then he remembered that he had decided he would not let his fear be known. He straightened and stepped forward.

The king’s eyes scanned him, but stopped when they took in his crossed arms. “You need not worry,” he said. “I will not force you into anything you do not want.”

Jongdae blinked at the sheer tenacity of those words, his anger flaring. He took another step towards the king, keeping his arms crossed. “And yet here I am,” he spat. “Forced into a marriage I do not want.”

The king raised an eyebrow. “That was not my doing,” he responded, his voice still emotionless. “I did not make that decision.”

The confirmation of what Jongdae already knew to be true forced the anger out of him. “I know. I am sorry for snapping, Your Majesty.”

“Do not apologize for your emotions.” The king’s robes rustled as he began to walk around the bed. “They are what keep you human.”

“Then I suppose you are not human,” Jongdae replied, voice quiet but strong. “As you seem to have no emotion whatsoever.”

The king’s head snapped towards him. “Do not assume,” he said, his voice suddenly hard, “that because I do not wear my feelings on my sleeve, that I have no feelings at all.” He stopped and turned back towards Jongdae. “You are unusual,” he added, his gaze burning. “You are not afraid to speak to me in such a manner.”

Jongdae felt his jaw clench. “I am not, Your Majesty,” he said tightly. “Seeing as I am to die anyway, I see no reason to hold back.”

The king huffed a quiet laugh. “The candor with which you speak. I have never heard anything like it.”

“You are not denying that I am to die,” Jongdae replied.

The king sobered. “No. I am not.” He walked towards Jongdae, pinning him to the spot with his gaze. “You stand accused of conspiring to weaken my rule by siphoning off money from the nation for your personal use, and for aiding others in the same exploit. You stand accused of embezzlement, accepting bribes, and false loyalty. You stand accused, Kim Jongdae, of high treason. And I sentence you to death for your crimes against the kingdom.”

Jongdae’s mouth dropped opened with shock. “W-what?”

“I will not repeat myself.” The king looked bored. “All comes out in due time, Lord Kim. But I must know - do you follow the orders of your father or were you the mastermind who orchestrated it?”

Jongdae shook his head wildly, heart pounding. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Denial, mm.” The king folded his hands. “A pithy defense, but lacking in substance.”

“Truly, I…” Jongdae’s eyes widened as the king’s words sank into his mind. A series of memories flashed before him - his father huddling with other senior nobility, his father shutting him out of his study, his father flashing riches far greater than he’d expected, the sudden increase in their standing, their coffers. 

“There it is.” The king smiled, but it was not friendly. “You will die before sunrise, Lord Kim. But, as I am merciful, you may ask of me one boon, and I will grant it.”

Jongdae’s mind went blank. The only thought in his head was that he did not want to die. He did not want to die. He did not want to die.

An idea slowly floated to the front of his mind, backed by the thoughts of Sunyoung and the children rapt with attention, and Baekhyun watching him with a proud smile on his face as the whole bar listened. He seized it. He did not want to die. 

“My liege,” he said, sinking into a low bow, “my wish is that I be permitted to tell you a story, from beginning to end.”

Surprise bloomed on the king’s handsome face for the briefest of moments before he turned away. “I will grant this wish,” he said, his voice back to its emotionless state. Jongdae watched as he clasped his hands behind his back. “You may begin.”

“My liege, if it please you,” Jongdae said, softening his voice, “the story I would like to tell is a bit long and winding. You may be more comfortable if you sit.”

The king did not move.

“As you please,” Jongdae murmured, acquiescing the point. He carefully sat down on the silk bedding, spreading his robes around him so they would not wrinkle.

“Our story begins on a dark night, a cold night, the blackness hiding a young man of eighteen who was creeping along the silent city streets. His name was Aladdin, and he was a thief.”

Jongdae spoke for hours. He wove the tale of Aladdin and the lamp containing a genie, and when he reached the part in the story recounting the second wish, he told how Aladdin had wished for a ship to sail the world, and thus had met one of the most fearsome sailors of the seven seas in a dingy bar in a far-off port.

“The sailor clapped him on the back, after learning he was from Agrabah, and bought him a drink. ‘Tell me about your adventures,’ Aladdin cried, ‘I am off to explore the world and I want to know everything there is to know.’ The sailor grinned, showing a mouth full of golden teeth. ‘Settle down, little boy,’ he growled, a fierce happiness in his eyes, ‘and I’ll tell you what you want to know.’” 

Here he paused, for his throat was getting scratchy and dry from the amount of time he had talked. 

“Surely that is not the end,” came a mumble from the other side of the bed. “We still have not gotten to the third wish.”

Jongdae gasped, which made him break into a fit of coughing. “No, my liege, it is not the end,” he said once the coughs had subsided. “I just need some water.”

“Ah.” 

Jongdae hurried to the bathing room and let some water run into a glass. He gulped it down, taking three deep breaths to make sure he stayed calm, and then walked back into the bedroom. 

“Better?” came the soft voice of the king. Jongdae startled and glanced over at him. His traitorous heart almost gave out at the sight.

The king was reclined across half of the red silk sheets, his black robe gaping open at the chest, revealing more skin than was really necessary. His black hair was slightly mussed from where he’d been resting his head, and his eyes were heavy-lidded as he looked at Jongdae.

“Y-yes, much better,” Jongdae mumbled, tearing his eyes away from him as he sat back down. “Where was I…”

“The sailor.” 

“Ah, yes.” Jongdae trained his eyes on the far wall. “The sailor grinned. “Settle down, little boy,’ he growled, ‘and I’ll tell you what you want to know.’”

Jongdae wasn’t sure how long he spoke after that; weaving tale after tale of Sinbad’s adventures at sea into the one narrative. His throat was fast drying out, he would need to stop again soon, but he was terrified that the king would realize what he was doing and put an end to it if he stopped. So he kept talking, pushing through his exhaustion to keep the story - and himself - alive.

A soft snore startled him from the semi-trance he’d slipped into while he recounted how Sinbad fought a kraken, breaking his stride mid-word. He looked around hurriedly, not sure what the sound had been, and muffled his gasp with his sleeve when his eyes landed on the king, sound asleep on the other side of the bed.

He carefully stood up, inching toward the curtains, and ever so slowly lifted a corner to peer outside and figure out how much time he had left.

Bright sunlight blinded him, and he dropped the curtain, stumbling back a step as his vision grew spotty. He blinked a few times to settle it before it fully processed in his brain.

He threw open the curtains, basking in the light as it hit his face.

The sun had risen. And he was still alive to see it.

**Author's Note:**

> ehehehehehe  
> next part coming soon~  
> hope everyone enjoyed!!!  
> ♥
> 
> [tumblr](https://yixingminseokjongdae.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/allforexot9) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/moon_goddess)


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